Nemesis

Enumerating through the flaws of time,

Travelling through the valleys, evasive to life,

To hold my spirit, to escape the night,

I blend my thoughts into the mirror of lies.

For you and me, we feel our might,

The might that surfaced through the ghost of fate,

The fate that never reaches the aesthetic lake,

The lake of magic, the embodiment that shifted the stars away.

For Nemesis shall call my Narcissus to the shore,

Where I will die to my illusive adore,

For the wind shall pour me to my bed,

To sleep and breathe, To heal and forget:

The might that corrupted my senses and name.

The narcissist’s blood to meet the lake,

The spirit to blend into the essence of escape,

The world that does not rise or die,

The place of death, the doom of lie,

Adore me then, when ‘I’ fly high,

Invisible, and without the need of pride.

The red that defined my faith at the time,

The black that retreats the illusion to the light.

A Dream to Die 

Epigraph :

And if I were dead tonight,

where would be your first cry?

Would it be on the phone?
Or while scrambling a piece of note?

Would it be on your way to home?
Or after I am buried?

Would it be in your dreams?
Or would you drink all that pain,

and not cry a tear?

And if I made through tonight,
where would you want to kiss me

one more time?

Would it on my eyes?
Or would you just blink your eyes?

Would you peck my cheeks?
Or pull them softly?

Would you kiss my lips?
Or mouth a ‘Thank you, God’

on my behalf?

And if I faded away,
would you come to take me away?

Would you make through
the limbo?

Or would you just

bid me a final goodbye?

What will I leave behind? I ask.
And I look back in the past,

and I see nothing good,

but pain and suffering.

• Poem by Omair | Instagram: @thescribbledstories

—————————————————————
My friend, do you know the realm of life ?

The realm holds the universe in the darkest nights,

Is it love or is it death ?

Is it the sky or the inmate jest ?

You are the feather to the realm,

More pleasing then death,

But illusive in strength,

I would cry for the only thing that rotates our life,

The very moment I get to know,

And maybe they don’t even have to tell,

Because my wings will be cut short,

I wont fly anymore, for my feather will morn,

And if it stay, why will I just kiss ?

I will fly with it to the heights in our cliche .

You may not understand my inmate partner,

But we hold a fiction note to write the realm of life,

In that fictional song, I hold a feather to write ,

The story true to the lie,

A lullaby, it will make us sleep in no time,

But when we wake up from the beautiful dream I draw,

We will be no more the same ,

We will be the realm of the game,

We will be with the one who designed the play,

So you know who we are ?

A portal to another star !

Not kiss, but fly to the place far away in our dreams,

Not waiting for death, but expecting it to wake us from our sleep,

To rejoice, my love , rejoice the need.

Link & Credits for Epigraph :https://www.facebook.com/TheScribbledStories/?fref=nf

Her Green Eyes

Assembling the puzzle pieces onto a story,

I reckoned how those hallways held my breathe,

How I used to be lost in the long trees in the rooms

Where lullabies were sung with alien threats,

My heart would rest my mind with the green,

And suddenly the lullaby will break into a scream,

My mentors would leave me to the crux,

But respect the notion of my love,

Ah! She was another thing of beauty that provoked,

A million dreams out on the road,

I could easily pass away myself onto her hair,

As if a slide to paradise,

A place with the smell of her smile,

Or rather a dream that alludes my green eyes.

The dreams were broken on commands,

The fear could only be defined as farce,

Broken onto the staircase for the demands,

With a team which made the farce end up as a laugh.

The days when I slipped over dreams to allusions,

And allusions to dreams, the child, the joy within me,

I reckon these thoughts and surface a smile,

When I think of the trees or her beautiful lies,

The trees are gone, with the wind adue!

With my love in the south, and my dreams in the room,

I look upon my school as a reflection of that night,

That blended the moon as a power of the divine.

I sang the verses of joy and sorrow,

I drank the colours of the world on the slab,

I laughed with my teachers on my lame plans,

And now I am here, with bits of reminiscence,

Hovering over my existence, defining the extradition of time,

Asking for that smile that never came through the mind,

But from the green and those beautiful lies.

Erosion

Wings plated within  my blood stream,

And legs burnt from the ocean of the sky,

My world does not define a lie,

It only brings the essence of the illusion to the eye,

I fly to write this verse, swim to make you think,

Cry to make the sapphire consume my thoughts,

And colour my wings blue, to enact a wearing truth,

With the gravity defying you to read this rhyme,

And the stars convincing you of my lie,

I will erode through the time.

And now that you know where I am not,

Now that you see my wings floating in the sky,

Wet from my lies, wait for them to die.

You will only have a verge in the sky,

And my wings will place themselves over your eye,

Fly, to a world where you will breathe another’s mind,

Or die, die and reveal yourself to a place that has never been defined.

The sapphire burned through me into an ocean,

and this verse came into being,

Now to understand my flight and lies,

Dear you, will have to erode from your mind.

And now that you have visited the path,

Can you recall the mornings from the sigh?

Do you still believe in the game of the light ?

You and me, the world, a lie,

A lie, to breathe, to die,

To know a rhyme,

Good night.

 

An Ocean of love 

Million things I say to the world,

But to you only one,

Million things I feel for you,

But for the world, I am numb. 

How do I bring this verse on surface,

A surface where we live far away,

Maybe thats why I swim underneath,

Deep within my feels and needs. 

And often you and me, we both are there,

We swim togther in our hidden air,

We love, we cherish, we dance and care.

But the deep vision is a temporary rain,

And then we wake up in despair..

I say things that are deep within those visions,

But you dont know their essence,

You get tired of my deep illusions,

And on the surface there is a fire,

A fire that burns all our desire,

I wish we could hide in our illusions,

And ignore what the people say on the surface,

Burning every single way to meet our ends,

But we will be in the cool water,

Feeling each other without the world,

But then to breathe, we seek out to the hallow air,

Where you and me, find despair,

We fight, we cry, we lie and care,

We think reality is our naked fear,

But let me tell you one thing my love,

I dont believe in people and the hallow air,

I would rather find solace in our ocean,

And live with you forever there,

The ocean of trust and love,

Where we love , we dance, we fear and care,

Let the fire burn, and let us love.. 

And if we wake up… 

My dear, lets burn togther and never forget,

Our ocean of love and trust. 

This is a rhyme that surfaced from our reality,

Like a huge wave, rather a tsunami,

That will take away the burns,

And freeze the people who talk about us,

It will freeze the flames that burned our nerves,

The tsunami will drown me and take me to the end of our country,

I will wake up in your arms,

Far from dispair and their believes. 

Let me tell you my love, the tsunami is on its way,

Till then, lets be partial to reality,

And smile like a wave that will take away the fire form the space. 

Forest of the Fall.

I had a dream where illusions had died,

On the surface, there was no lie,

With my moves, my shadow never followed,

The sun and the rain,

But no rainbow to wrap the essence of the play.

We lived in a world with no mystery,

With names and places bundled in the space of no need.

We made a compact idea of our living,

there was no war, but the curiosity died within our vision,

Each colour compacted a single meaning,

And no sight gave me a thought of my lost legion,

Were we living or just breathing,

Breathing with everything in our oblique mind,

In a world, where our kids never cried,

They laughed but never felt the joy,

They fell, but never felt the need to grow into complex toy.

The world had discovered it all,

And nothing was left in the minds to crawl.

Like a rain in the summer, without a glimpse of the cool,

Like a smile without a trace of a fool.

I woke up with the loud roar of the thunder,

I could feel cold under the warmth of the numbers,

Father asked me to pull the trigger of knowledge,

And I pulled the arrow to breach into the mankind.

Now, after three years, I know,

I want to be mad in the rain and drain,

I am not the vision of the ideal game,

Rather I would die to discover more,

And leave the painting incomplete to let them know,

That the material of the world will lie naked,

But my madness will always find new words in the making,

I will call myself a moron and write.

I will be the unique patron for the modern night,

And they will read my verses, call me magical or insane,

Whether they feel or believe, Human beings will not live,

If the universe claim the answers to the maze.

To a lost friend

Almost five years now, and I still have not replaced you in my heart. I never mentioned the word, ‘heart’ and you know why, I only have my mind and a fast asleep soul. My heart, well it never found recovery after they took you away. I have read so much and will continue living a life that you wanted me too live. I know it is our secret, but no one will read this and understand who you were, or how you put my broken pieces in order. I wonder, looking at the green, if we still flare across the globe through our senses and completely escape the cries of the world.

I still remember, I was just 12-year-old, when held your hand while playing with my sister; we were of the imagination that your hand would leash spells out in the sky. We enchanted our innocence through feeling each sense of your dead branches. I found myself a super power with you, your colours were my emotions and when the wind used to hit you before the sweet rain, I could almost cry with the best emotions of encountering the cold of the immortal. I never found the connection that kept growing everyday, that I used to cry in front of you and now, that I write in the dark with half of the world asleep in the melody of the illusion, you come back in my mind to wake me up and cry again.

I lost another battle today, and I could fathom nothing, but the one thing you left for me. .Yes, I do write my friend, often about the same things we discussed back then and believe me, you were right, no one gets these write ups, except the rain of course. The rain pours over every second I live and make me breathe through the desert.

You left me only a blank page and never answer the left doubts , asking me to wait for the rain. I was often lost with the tormenting storms and droughts within my psychic. I have scars from those calamities and even today, my blood is over flowing my vain and burning my sight, the only difference is, that I have felt the essence of the rain now. The overflow goes onto these words and then create a unity of time and space for me, a point to escape to my stars.

You left me the gift of poesy, through your silence. You became a part of me, that never betrays. A part that sings a silent rhyme within me; the rhyme is lost into colours and my sight is also a blur because of the agitated mind of mine.

I can only feel you, when I write a note that does not concern the universe of the man-made objectivity. I talk to you through the virtual ink that bleed out of my senses. The ink never reaches a conclusion, but it never stops, it runs through the parallel dimensions of the world. Now what do I do to calm it down ?

The ink made me fell in love with a beautiful woman, she has been with me mending the ink to reach the crevices of my scars, I heal with her essence. But, I lost the battle to her today. The earth is revolving too fast, my friend and I have lost you.

Your existence gives rise to a cosmos for me, when I spill the ink outside the purview of a reader, it seems as if I have felt the air and the voice the birds that used to surround you.

How do I tell them, why I write and where it comes from. Even the meaning of all this? Shall I keep the lie alive? About how you were only a tree that rested in front of my room?

Either ways, I cannot explain how you made me the person who writes a crisis of existence. You left me unanswered and I will leave them.